The 50th Hunger Games With A Twist
by bch1993
Summary: Katniss Everdeen was chosen as one of the female tributes for the 50th Annual Hunger Games. Will she survive with 47 other Tributes and no Cinna to make her the 'Girl on Fire? Rated T for violence, which is mostly caution on my part
1. Part 1: THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE Chap 1 Part I

_To show that many lives were lost needlessly by the uprising, each district will be required to send double the number of tributes._

Lives lost needlessly. That's one way to describe the Hunger Games, but no one says that aloud. I do not say it aloud either, for fear that my mother, elder brother and younger sister will suffer for it. I protect them from everything that I can, despite my mother and brother being adults.

I used to scare my family to death by saying things the Peacekeepers would consider rebellious aloud. It was only when my father sat me down and explained that if we said such things aloud, no matter how truthful they were, someone might hear and we would be punished. My sister and mother could get hurt, he said. I loved them both more than anything, and I respected my father enough to listen when he ordered me to do something, no matter my stubbornness that had been untamed even then.

This year is another Quarter Quell, the 50th anniversary of the Hunger Games. There will be four tributes taken from each district rather than the usual two, and my family's risk of having their children in the Hunger Games has just increased exponentially.

My father is the sole provider in our home and has continually refused to allow any of his children to apply for tesserae, no matter the circumstances, so I have only 5 slips in the Reaping bowl. This is a lot less than others have. My father works in the mines. On Sundays, he, my brother, and I hunt in the woods outside District 12. Joseph and I hunt on other days as well, after school and in the morning. Starting after this Hunger Games, he will join our father in the mines. That is, if he makes it through this Hunger Games. In this way, we make sure that our family has food, and we use the money our father makes from the mines on other essentials. Our lives are quite a bit better than some of the other families in District 12.

Sometimes, we will have extra game or greens that we trade in the Hob, the black market. Not that it is really illegal, as the Peacekeepers trade there as well. The only thing "black" about that market is the coal dust that covers it, brought in by the miners. We make sure to keep on good terms with the traders.

I don't hunt today. Joe and I hunted last night, because today the risk would be enormous. It is even worse than other Reapings because it is a Quarter Quell. Instead, I sleep in for the first time in a long time and spend the rest of the time before the Reaping being fussed over by my parents. We bathe vigorously one at a time, scrubbing the dirt and sweat from our bodies. I even wash my hair, which is not something that I do all the time because we need to save the soap for other things. I am the last to bathe, and I find an old dress of my mother's on my bed when I get out. It is a faded blue with matching shoes and I recognize it easily. It was a gift from her parents when she married my father and I know she treasures it greatly. I slip it on and head into the other room. My father is wearing his best clothes and my mother is wearing a more worn dress than the one she laid out for me. My brother wears a well mended but worn shirt and pants and my sister wears one of my old sundresses. I move forward to slide the strap up her shoulder, where it has fallen down. I smile down at her warmly before turning to my parents. They watch us all sadly. We could all be picked today. It is a very slight chance, all things considered, but there is a chance nonetheless. And it scares them to death.

At one o' clock, we have to head down to the square. Seven thousand people are here, a third of them children the right age for Reaping. Four of those will never return to the District after today.

Not that there has never been a District 12 Victor. It has happened once, and only once, in the last 50 years. I do not know what they did in regards to the District 12 tributes before Callow Rabat won the 20th Hunger Games when she was 15. My father says that Rabat struggled with surviving but used a combination of wit, sneakiness, and strength to win. On the replays of the games, Rabat got a low training score and a high body count. She stalked the careers from a safe distance, killing one when he or she separated from the group and then bolting before the others could find her. The Cornucopia killed 11 that year, the Careers killed 3 on the hunt and Rabat killed 9, including all 5 careers.

Once we reached the square, we separated. My parents went to the viewing area while my brother, sister and I signed in and headed for our age groups. I stand beside other 16-year-old Seam girls. We exchange nervous, silent nods and turn our attention inward. In front of the Justice Building, the normal temporary stage is set up, with three chairs, a podium and two large, glass balls. The first chair is for the Mayor, a cold man whom no one likes. The second is for the District escort, a woman by the name of Fifi Summer. The third chair seats Callow Rabat. She looks pale and weak, so unlike she was when she won her Games.

When the clock strikes two, the Mayor steps up and begins to recite, from memory, the history of Panem, the Dark Days, and the Treaty of Treason.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," he says firmly, a noticeable warning in his voice. No one dares to speak. He goes on after a moment, introducing the only District 12 victor. Rabat nods slightly at the mention of his name. Then, the mayor sits and Fifi gets up and heads for the podium.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" She says cheerfully, disdain concealed in her voice. She hates working as the escort for 12 and desperately desires a better district. Unfortunately, for her and for us, unless another district escort retires or dies, she's stuck. She doesn't waste any time and gets right to the drawing. "Ladies first!" She calls, reaching into the bowl. She digs down deep and when she pulls out her hand, a slip of paper comes with it. And one of my biggest fears are realized when she calls out the name.

"Katniss Everdeen!"


	2. Part 1: THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE Chap 1 Prt II

With numb legs, I head for the platform, fighting to keep my face calm and confident. I will not let anyone see me cry. When I reach the stage and turn, I manage to spot my parents in the crowd. My mother is crying silently, my father is very pale. Catching my gaze, my father gives me an encouraging, confident look. He only barely manages it. My gaze darts to my sister, who is crying silently, and then to my brother. He is biting his lip hard, a single tear trailing down his cheek. That tear is forgotten a moment later because the next name called is a familiar one.

"Maysilee Donner!" A soft moan escapes my mouth. Maysilee is a merchant's daughter, one of a pair of twins. She and her twin are best friends with Joe's crush, Rose Mejias. Rose is the daughter of the family that runs the apothecary. Rose and Maysilee's twin, Molly, cry and clutch Maysilee until she pulls herself away. When she reaches the platform, Fifi places us both side-by-side on one side of her. "Let's give a big round of applause to our two female tributes!" she cries. I know how much my parents would like to stay silent, but the Mayor would never stand for it, so they clap half-heartedly, the same as everyone else. Even that is enough to earn a glare from the mayor, but no retribution.

"Yes, yes, very exciting!" Fifi says easily. "Now for the boys!" Again, she reaches her hand in and pulls out a name, this time from the boy bowl. I pray that it isn't Joe.

"Nico Chandler!" She calls. A blond boy with scared blue eyes moves forward as slowly as he can. I recognize him as the butcher's son, but know little else about him besides that he's only got one sibling, an older brother who is too old to volunteer for him. Fifi grabs his shoulder when he finally makes it to the stage and places him firmly at her other side, reaching in to grab the next name as soon as he's placed. I barely have time to hope, again, that it isn't Joe before she's reading the name.

"Haymitch Abernathy!" She calls. I do recognize him. He is a boy from the Seam, strong and capable. I have a feeling that he could win, if anyone from our District could. His mother stands not too far from where my parents are. I see the grief cross her face before she hides it. Mrs. Abernathy is a strong woman. Her husband had died ten years ago in a mine explosion. She had cared for Haymitch and his younger brother by herself since then. Haymitch moves towards the stage with an easy gait. It is neither too slow nor too eager. His face and posture shows arrogant indifference. Despite myself, I'm impressed. Once he's reached the stage and has taken his place beside Nico, Fifi asks for volunteers. Haymitch's face changes, just for a second, to a glare. Anyone who caught it would think that he wanted to be on the stage and didn't want anyone volunteering for him, like a Career. But I see the truth. Through the crowd, in the group of 13 year old boys from the Seam, I catch sight of his little brother. The boy had opened his mouth but shut it at Haymitch's glare. No one else dares to speak.

Fifi steps down and the mayor returns, reciting the long, dull Treaty of Treason. It is required, but he takes extra relish in it. For the first time since I was 10, I am not overcome with relief at the end of the Reaping and subsequent safety of my family. Instead, I focus on my fellow tributes.

Maysilee is friends with Rose; I know from my brother than she is constantly in the apothecary with Rose whenever she has a chance, so it is safe to assume that she has about as much knowledge of plants as I do, at least medicinal ones. She's merchant daughter, so she's not likely to survive long.

The same goes for Nico Chandler. He's a butcher's son, though, so he can probably handle knives. Then again, the meat he handles is already dead.

Haymitch will be tough to beat.

Before I can think any more on the subject, before I can think of the Career tributes that will be better even than Haymitch, my thoughts are interrupted. The mayor concludes the Treaty of Treason and orders us to shake hands. It is different from when there are only two tributes. Maysilee and I shake hands while the boys do the same. Haymitch grimaces slightly as he pulls away from Nico, and I find out why a moment later. Nico's hands are sweaty with nerves and I pull away with an inward grimace. The difference between he and Haymitch is clear as soon as our hands clasp. Nico was tentative and sweaty with fear. Maysilee was firm but gentle. Haymitch is firm and slightly crushing. It is clear that he is already playing the game. We all turn back to the crowd in our little line, Haymitch on my right, then me, then Nico, and finally Maysilee, as the anthem plays loudly.


	3. Part 1: THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE Chapter 2

As soon as the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. Escorted into the Justice Building, separated, and accompanied to a room, we are left alone to say our last goodbyes. I take a brief moment to admire the thick carpets and velvet furniture, but quickly reassemble myself. My family will be coming in soon, and I must not let them see anything less than utmost confidence.

When they come in, it is only my mother and sister. My father and brother are not with them. I feel a flash of pain, which my mother quickly reads.

"They're coming later. Joe wanted to talk to you alone, and so did your father." She says quietly. I feel a rush of relief but squash it, and open my arms instead. My little sister darts into them. Her dark brown hair swings in its twin braids. Her gray eyes peer up at me tearfully as I enclose her in my arms.

"Come home." She pleads.

"I'll try." I say, because it is all the I can promise. She bites her bottom lip and nods raggedly. My mother steps forward and embraces us both.

"Be careful." She whispers in my ear. I nod and pull away. They leave and Joe comes in.

He moves to hug me and we sit together quietly on the sofa, just holding each other. "I love you, Kittymess." He murmurs. He is the only one that can get away with calling me that. For a moment, I laugh, but I quickly choke it back.

"I love you too, Jojo." I say. He opens his mouth but has to swallow hard before he can speak.

"I love Rose." He says. I nod. "But, if you have to, I don't care if you have to kill Maysilee. As long as you come home. Even if Rose hates you and me both for it." I blink back tears that want to fall.

"It probably won't come to that." I tell him quietly, shoving the tears back. "There are 48 of us this year."

"But if it does." He insists. "Promise me that you won't hesitate because of me." I nod. "Promise." He orders.

"I promise." I say. He nods and we hold each other until the Peacekeepers come.

My father is next. He yanks me into his arms as soon as he's in the room. "Don't bother about the Cornucopia." He whispers intently. "No matter how strong you are, you're no match for the bloodbath that happens there. Try to sneak supplies while the Careers are hunting. If they have a guard, find a way to kill it without alerting the others. Find drinkable water, you'll die without it. If you can, get your hands on a bow as soon as possible. With a bow, the others will have no chance. Use the snares I've taught you to find food. Don't use your arrows unless you have to or you're sure that you'll get them back. Play to your strengths. You know how to survive in places others don't, use that. Even if the arena isn't like our woods, you can survive if you use the things I've taught you. Remember what you've learned."

"I will." I agree, feeling my confidence grow with every word. I can do this. I have the skills. I just have to hope that I can kill humans, who think and are armed, as well as I can kill animals.

"I'll see you in two weeks." He promises. We cling together for another long moment before he is escorted from the room.

To my surprise, it's Rose who comes in next. We stare at each other in silence for a moment before she dips her hand into her pocket and pulls out a small pin. I stare at it for a moment. Encircled with gold is a red rose. She extends it to me.

"I thought that you could wear this. In the arena. For your token." She explains, voice shaking. "It's not much, but..."

"Thank you." I tell her simply. I couldn't tell her that the pin would remind me of her, and that I'd have to kill her friend which would make me hesitate, as my brother had made me promise not to do. Still, I did need a token and the rose was pretty. She smiles hesitantly before turning and leaving. "Rose!" I call out. She pauses and turns. "Take care of him? If something happens to me." I request. She blinks back tears.

"I will." She agrees. I nod and she leaves.

It's a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station. I've never been in a car before, rarely even ridden in wagons. In the Seam, we travel on foot. The station is swarming with reporters, their insect-like cameras trained directly on our faces. They are airing our arrival live and I am glad to see that my face looks neutral, unemotional. Maysilee has tear tracks on her face and Nico is openly crying. Haymitch is, as usual, smirking arrogantly. We are forced to stand for a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobble up our images, then we're allowed inside and the doors close behind us.

The train begins to move at once. The speed initially takes my breath away. Of course, I've never been on a train, because travel between the districts is forbidden except for officially sanctioned duties. For us, that's mainly transporting coal. But this is no ordinary coal train. It's one of the high-speed Capitol models that average 250 miles per hour. Our journey to the Capitol will take less than a day.

In school, they tell us the Capitol was built in a place once called the Rockies. District 12 was in a region known as Appalachia. Even hundreds of years ago, they mined coal here, which is why our miners have to dig so deep. It all comes back to coal at school. Besides basic reading and math, most of our instruction is coal-related. Well, except for the weekly lecture on the history of Panem. Mostly, that's a lot of gibberish about what we owe the Capitol. I know there must be more than they're telling us, an actual account of what happened during the rebellion maybe, but I don't spend much time thinking about it. Even that would count as a rebellion and my family means more to me than any information the Capitol is hiding.

The tribute train is fancier than even the room in the Justice Building. We are each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. We don't have hot water at home, unless we boil it. There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Fifi tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal, but I'm not to mess them up with my grimy hands and I'm to be ready for supper in an hour. I stick my tongue out at her retreating form as she leaves.

I peel off my mother's blue dress and take a hot shower. I've never had a shower before. It's like being in a summer rain, only warmer. I revel in the warm water but step out after only a few moments. I've already had a bath today and I am not wasteful. I put on a pair of dark green pants and a shirt. They remind me of the woods at home and are a comfort. I only just remember to grab Rose's pin from the dress and pin it to my new shirt. I glance in the mirror and sigh. I don't look like much. I'm not as skinny as most of the Seam children from District 12 but I'm not bulky either. My arms are strong but any Career could overpower me easily. All in all, I'm not much. My only helpful feature is my survival skills. I am suddenly very glad that I, unlike my sister, take after my father and brother in hunting skills. My father even taught me to make good bows, though even he has to scrap them occasionally. My brother is excellent at this.

I step out of my compartment and walk down the hall warily, searching. A door at the end of the hall opens to reveal a dining compartment. The dishes on the table look highly breakable. Nico and Maysilee are already seated next to each other. Fifi is seated beside Maysilee and Rabat is seated beside Nico. With the choice of Rabat and Fifi, I choose Rabat and take the empty seat next to her. Haymitch enters not a moment later, grimacing slightly as he takes the seat between me and Fifi. The supper comes in courses. Fifi sneers at us as we eat hungrily. She reminds us coldly that we should save room because there is more to come but Rabat reminds her, almost inaudibly, that we need to put on weight for the arena. She sniffs but doesn't say anything else.

When the meal is over, I'm fighting to keep everything down. There was so much and it was all so good that I stuffed myself more than I should have. I am determined to keep the food down though, and I do. Nico is not so lucky.

We go to another compartment to watch the Reapings in the other Districts. One by one, names are called and children are sentenced to death. Only a few stand out to me. The large boy in 1 that jumps forward to volunteer, the blonde boy from 2 that towers over the other tributes, a short girl from 3 that looks too young for the Reaping but stands with the fourteen year old children, the girl from 4 whose brown hair flows like water, the boy from 10 who is bulky and looks fierce, a small dark-haired 12-year-old girl from 11, a boy from 11 who is laughing even as his name is called and whose face tells of a mischievous nature, the other boy from 11 who is just the opposite, strong and dangerous-looking, and then us.

"Well, I think that's enough for tonight." Rabat says. She rises and leaves the room. Uncertain, the rest of us glance among ourselves. Haymitch snorts lightly and rises, leaving. I hesitate but rise to leave as well. Maysilee follows me and Nico darts after us, eager not to be left behind. As we reach our rooms, placed down the hall from each other, the train is pausing to refuel. Maysilee and Haymitch ignore it, heading to their rooms. Nico hesitates but follows their lead. I pause, staring out at the night sky, until the train starts moving again. I head into my room and get into the bed without glancing around. I do not even take off my clothes. If I'm going to cry, now is the time to do it. By morning, I'll be able to wash the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm either too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else. I try to fall asleep but even this oblivion evades me. I toss and turn for over an hour before I give up.

Rising, I slip out of the room silently. Making my way back to the dining compartment, I slip inside. I pause in the doorway. Haymitch is there, staring out the window, but he doesn't notice me. I debate what to do for a moment before continuing forward.

"Can't sleep either?" I ask. I see him jump slightly and he turns, scowling at me. I see faint red marks around his eyes but pretend that I don't.

"No." He says flatly. I nod and sit down beside him, joining his gaze. The stars are bright and the moon is just waning, heading to the end of its cycle. I sigh quietly, watching it. This could be the last time I ever see a waning moon. Even if I survive a month in the arena, though I doubt the Gamemakers will allow the games to last that long, I will never be able to be sure that it is my moon and not a Gamemaker creation. "What are you doing here, Sweetheart?" He drawls. I bristle slightly at the term.

"Staring at the moon." I respond dryly. "What about you? Thinking about Meg?" His eyes flash and I feel a rush of satisfaction that I managed to rankle him.

"Mind your own business!" He snaps furiously.

"Fine. I won't bother making conversation in the future." I spin back around to stare at the moon again, but I don't really see it anymore. He huffs and throws himself into one of the chairs at the empty table. I continue to stand there but can't concentrate with the feel of his glower boring holes in my back. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of running me off, but I don't want to stay here either. I huff and spin, unable to bear being in the same room with him any longer. I stalk to the door and open it.

His voice stops me. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart." There's a mocking edge there that makes me feel the urge to strangle him with my bare hands, but I contain it. I will kill him in the arena if it's the last thing I do.

Gray light leaks through the windows as Fifi bangs on my door.

"Get up! Up!" She hollers, moving to bang on the others' doors. I glare at the closed door before rising. Glancing in the mirror, I smooth out my clothes and head out. The tight braid that my hair is in hasn't been too affected so I leave it alone. It doesn't matter. We can't be far from the Capitol now. And once we reach the city, my stylist will dictate my look for the opening ceremonies tonight anyway. I just hope I get one who doesn't think nudity is the last word in fashion. I shake the thought off and head to the dining room.

When I walk in, Fifi is scowling at Maysilee, who looks smug. I smirk slightly, wondering what she did to tick the woman off and how soon I could repeat it without them thinking that we were planning it.

"Well, good morning, sweetheart." Haymitch's voice drawls. I ignore him, gritting my teeth against my retort, and sit down as far from him as possible. Nico is not here yet. The moment I slide into my chair, I'm served an enormous platter of food. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it chilled. The basket of rolls they set before me would keep my family going for a week. There's an elegant glass of orange juice. At least, I think it's orange juice. I've only ever tasted an orange once, at New Year's when my father bought one as a special treat. A cup of coffee. My father says he enjoys the taste, but it only tastes bitter and thin to me. A rich brown cup of something I've never seen.

"It's called it hot chocolate," Maysilee says when she sees my confusion. "I asked." I nod and take a sip. Immediately, my mouth is filled with a delicious, hot, creamy liquid that I practically inhale.

One good thing about being sent to my death: good food.

Even though the rest of the meal beckons, I ignore it until I've drained my cup. Then, I stuff down every mouthful I can hold, which is a substantial amount, being careful to not overdo it on the richest stuff.

When I can't eat any more, I sit back and take in my companions. Almost unconsciously, my eyes immediately dart to Haymitch. His plate is empty and he is just finishing his hot chocolate, downing the last dregs. I look away before he can spot me. Maysilee is poking at the leftovers on her plate, as though wanting to eat more but not daring to risk it. Nico has finally managed to make an appearance, still eating vigorously. His eyes are red and puffy, even more noticeably than Haymitch's were last night, and he is very pale. Fifi is eating silently, eyes examining all of us with disgust. I press my lips tightly together to avoid a confrontation and turn my eyes to Rabat. She stares down at her own plate, but she hasn't touched it. I frown slightly.

"You're supposed to give us advice." I prompt her. She glances up at me.

"Stay alive." She says flatly. I blink in surprise.

"That's it?" Maysilee demands scathingly. "That's all you have to say?"

"That's all there is to say. There is no fool-proof method that will keep you alive. Mostly, the only thing you can do is use your instincts and kill other tributes. There's not much that I can tell you that will be any good in the arena in regards to strategy. That depends on you. I can help you in regard to sponsors but that's about it." She says. I blink, tilting my head slightly. It made sense, in a very unhelpful way. We'd be in the arena alone, and sticking to one strategy without being able to adapt would get you killed. Still, my father's advice had been more helpful.

Suddenly, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside the train, but it's like night outside. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up into the Capitol. The mountains here form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It's almost impossible to enter the Capitol from the east except through the tunnels. I wait as the tunnel goes on and on. When the train finally begins to slow, bright light floods the compartment. I run to the window, unable to help myself, Maysilee and Nico not far behind. We all want to see what we've only seen on television, the ruling city of Panem. The cameras haven't lied about its splendor. If anything, they were unable to capture the brilliance of the glistening buildings that line up in a rainbow of hues, the shiny cars that roll down the paved streets, the oddly dressed people with bizarre hair and painted faces who have never had to miss a meal. The colors seem artificial: the pinks too deep, the greens too bright, the yellows painful to the eyes. The people begin to point at us eagerly as they recognize a tribute train rolling into the city.

I step away from the window, sickened by their excitement. They can't wait to watch us die. They, who have so much, have no idea what it is like to be us. Nico flushes at the attention and turns away. Maysilee watches the window in silence for a moment before turning away as well.

"Oh." We turn our attention to Rabat. "One more piece of advice. Don't argue with the stylists. They can get nasty."


	4. Part 1: THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE Chapter 3

I could give the Capitol audience a preview of my ability to kill right now if I didn't think that it would cost me. The buzzards, what I've been calling my prep team, have been circling around me, and after everything they've done in the last hours, I am ready to scream. They are the most insensitive, vain people that I've ever met. But then again, they are Capitol people.

I've been in the Remake Center for more than four hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently she has no interest in seeing me until my prep team has fixed the most basic 'problems' in my appearance. This included scrubbing down my body with a gritty foam that removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and ridding my body of all hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting. I've been greased with a lotion that soothed my irritated skin and had any extra hairs that escaped the first assault removed from my body. I hate feeling that they are preparing me so that I look pretty while I die, but I have listened to Rabat's instructions and haven't complained. Although she did say stylist rather than prep team, so maybe...

"Well." A woman with lime green hair and purple eyebrows says. "That's as good as you're going to get. Time to call Mandala!" They scurry out. I sigh and slump against the wall. Finally! Of course, the worst is yet to come, as I soon find out. Not a minute after the buzzards left, a woman with pink skin, green hair, and red eyes swoops in.

"Darling." She drawls in that stupid Capitol accent. "My name is Mandala. Well, let me take a look at you." She declares, eying me. I resist the urge to fold my arms across my chest.

The next hour passes horribly. Mandala is worse than the buzzards. She 'tisks' at every little thing, criticizing my appearance at every turn. In the end, she has done little but gab on and on, not making very many changes to my appearance, and then proceeds to stick me in a skimpy outfit with a hat that is supposed to represent a coal miner outfit. By the time I leave, I am about to commit another murder, this time a grisly, horrifying murder that will make even the most bloodthirsty Capitol citizen turn away. I managed to restrain myself only by chanting the names of plants and their uses, building snares in my mind, and envisioning her death in a hundred different ways.

Finally, it is time to head down to the bottom level of the building, where the chariots await.

As there are double the number of tributes this year, and the chariots are only fit to hold two, there are also double the number of chariots. It's lucky the the stable is gigantic, because it would be hard to fit everyone inside otherwise. To my dismay, Haymitch is placed in the chariot with me while the stylists exclaim about matching sets. I stand as far from him as possible and wait, praying he will not open his mouth and make this day any worse that it has been. He is, apparently, just as worn out by his prep team as I am, because he says nothing. He stands silently in his outfit, which admittedly makes him look very attractive though I will never admit that aloud, and a scowl is prominent on his face.

The opening music begins. It's easy to hear because it's blasted around the Capitol to make sure everyone knows what's happening, as though some people might forget. Massive doors slide open, revealing the crowded streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes, and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our prison until the Games begin. It is our last stop before the games: the last, real bed that most of us will ever have.

The tributes from District 1 ride out first in chariots pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, sparkling like jewels in the sun. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites because they make the luxury items. Who cares about feeding your family when you can have jewelry, right?

The District 2 chariots get into position and follow them. Then 3, 4, 5, and so on. In no small amount of time, we are approaching the door, and I can see that between the clouds and the evening hour, the sky is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 ride out and we brace ourselves to go next. First our chariot, then the one holding Nico and Maysilee pull forward, tugging us out onto the streets.

District 12 is always a washout compared to the other districts. It's the same thing every year: naked and covered in coal dust, or in coal miner outfits. Neither of those look interesting, and there's never anything new. Typically, the Capitol citizens ignore us as we head for the circle.

The twenty-four chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. Every window of the building surrounding the area is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. As our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion and we come to a halt, the music ends with a flourish.

The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. As he speaks, the camera cuts away to the faces of the tributes. This is, I always thought, a way to ensure that all the tributes are paying attention. With forty-eight tributes, each tribute gets less time than normal, and District 12 gets the least attention of all, as usual.

The national anthem plays, they make a quick cut around to each pair of tributes as the chariots parade around the circle one final time, and then we are disappearing into the Training Center. Once inside, the prep teams surround us. I want to be out of the coal miner outfit quickly, so I push past them to where Fifi is waiting impatiently. For once, we're in agreement. I can't wait to get out of here either.

After the other three gather around, we set off toward the elevator. The twelfth floor is for District 12, easy enough to remember. The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch the people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air. It's exhilarating, but there's no way that I would ask Fifi if we could go again, especially with Haymitch listening in.

My rooms are larger than our entire house back home. They are plush, like the train car, but also have so many automatic gadgets that I'm sure I won't have time to press all the buttons.

The shower has a panel with more than a hundred options alone that you can choose from: regulations for water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. When you step out on a mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body. Instead of struggling with the knots in my wet hair, I merely place my hand on a box that sends a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my hair almost instantly. It floats down around my shoulders in a glossy curtain.

I program the closet for an outfit to my taste. The windows zoom in and out on parts of the city at my command. You need only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, hot and steamy, before you in less than a minute. I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Fifi is calling me to dinner.

When I walk into the dining room, I find everyone else already there.

Most of dinner is spent in silence, though Maysilee attempts to make conversation once in a while. I keep following my plan about gaining as much weight as I can before going into the arena. Courses fly by, and we don't even bother to watch the recap of the Opening Ceremony. District 12 was unnoticeable, as always, so there isn't really a point to it.

"Well." Rabat says finally. "The four of you had best get some sleep. Donner, I want you to meet me in here at six in the morning. Someone will make sure you're up in time. Everdeen, you're up by seven. Abernathy, by eight. Chandler, you're in here by nine. You'll each have an hour with me to go over strategy for your training sessions and your private session with the Gamemakers. We won't have much time to go over everything, so it's going to be about what to do during the training sessions." We all murmur agreement before heading back to our rooms. I strip, not bothering with clothes, and fall into a restless sleep.

My dreams are filled with nightmares. I dream of the different arenas I have seen over the years, the horrors I saw those children suffer, and see myself in their places. My mind conjures up new images about what my arena will be like, and what I will suffer.

I wake up to the sound of Fifi banging on my door impatiently. I call out that I'm awake, causing her to huff and stomp off. I dress in the clothes laid out for me and head out, deciding to shower while Haymitch and Nico have their session with Rabat. When I open my door, I see Haymitch stick his head out of his own with a scowl.

"Keep it down, would you sweetheart? Some of us don't have to be up for another couple hours." He complains.

"I'll try to keep it down. Nico deserves his sleep." I agree. His face darkens but I turn and walk away before he can say anything else. I arrive in the dining room just as Maysilee is leaving. She grimaces, slicing a finger across her throat like a knife, and then grins. I grin back in amusement before letting my grin fall. I should not start liking Maysilee. She will be my enemy once we entered the arena. It was bad enough that she was my brother's crush's best friend. It would be worse if I actually started liking her.

I enter the room, finding Rabat eating calmly.

"Well," she says once I've loaded a plate. "Let's get to work. Do you have any strengths?" I blink in surprise at her abrupt question and answer without thinking.

"I can hunt," I say. "With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" asks Rabat, an eyebrow raised.

I have to think about it. I've been helping my father put food on the table for years. That's no small task. I'm not as good as my father is, but he's had more practice. I have a great aim, or so my father says. Then again, he and my brother are biased. "I'm okay." I allow. She examines me intently but shrugs.

"Alright, anything else?" I hesitate before adding one more thing.

"I know a lot about plants. Their properties. Medicinal uses, edibility, things like that. Not well, but enough to survive on."

"Well. That will be a good thing in terms of survival. There's no guarantee they'll have bows, but if you show them what you can do with one in your session with the Gamemakers, they might add one to improve the show. Until then, don't go near the archery. We don't want to show your competitors what you can do. The edible plants station should be safe, and it can give you an idea about what type of arena you'll be facing. Make sure you're familiar with the stations that teach about knot-tying and starting fires. Work on a simple weapon, like a knife or a spear." I eat while she talks. Once she's finished, we move on to a discussion about a strategy for the my interview with Flickerman.

By the time that Haymitch arrives, I feel... not exactly confident but less nervous than I was. He scowls at me on my way out and I scowl back.

When I reach my room, I strip again, laying my clothes on the bed, and get into the shower. If I had expected a shower to relax me, I was mistaken. I arbitrarily punch buttons on the control board and end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me. Then I'm deluged in lemony foam that I have to scrape off with a heavy bristled brush.

Climbing out of the deathtrap, I use the heaters to dry myself and the electric thing to fix my hair. I braid my hair and moisturize my body before grabbing the clothes and dressing again. Looking at myself in the mirror, this is the first time since the morning of the reaping that I resemble myself. I look like I could be headed for the woods. It calms me.

Remembering Rabat's orders to meet Fifi at the elevator at ten, I glance at the clock and head out. I am the second last to arrive, only beating Nico.

The next three days pass in a haze of training. We get up every morning to meet with Rabat, where she then quizzes us, or at least me, on what we did and who watched us. I haven't particularly noticed anyone watching me since I'm from District 12 and everyone thinks that those tributes go down so easily that there is no need to worry about them. Their mistake will be my advantage. On the other hand, I have been watching my opponents. I know that one of the girls from 1 handles an ax like she was born with it, that the boy from 2 is good with a sword, that the little girl that I noticed from 3 is intelligent but not too fast, that the older, skinnier boy from 4 has a bad leg that he is trying to hide, that the girl from 9 is about as good with identifying plants as I am, that the large boy from 10 is a master at hand-to-hand combat, and the boy that was laughing at the reaping is as playful as I thought. He sits at a new table every day, including the Career table, laughing and joking while the rest of us just stare at him incredulously. He is, I've decided, certifiably insane. It's abnormal to be that cheerful when he must be certain that he will die in the arena.

I have been trying to decide whether or not to advertise my skill with a bow and score high, or act weak and score low. In the end, I decided that it would be best to use a bow in my session with the Gamemakers. It would, as Rabat said, encourage them to place a bow in the arena. There is no guarantee they would otherwise. They want a good show, and the tribute from District 12 showing such skill would make it very interesting.

I am last to go before the Gamemakers. When I walk in, I feel an immediate sense of dread. These men and women have not just 24, but 48 tributes to watch. Not to mention that 12 is well-known for lacking in the skills department. 47 tributes have already passed, and they are bored and have clearly had too much to drink. They ignore me completely, not even bothering to appear to pay attention. I feel a rush of anger flash through me but suppress it. Now is no time to lose my head.

I walk to the archery station, which I've been itching to get my hands on for days. Bows made of wood and plastic and metal and materials I can't even name line the station. Arrows with feathers cut in flawless, uniform lines are in quivers made of such smooth material. I choose a bow, string it, and sling the matching quiver of arrows over my shoulder. There's a shooting range, but it's much too simple for what I intend. I want to wow the Gamemakers and a standard bull's-eyes and human silhouettes will not do that. I walk to the center of the gymnasium and pick my first target: a dummy used for knife practice. Even as I pull back on the bow I know something's wrong. The string is tighter than the one I use at home and the arrow's are more rigid.

Like my father taught me to do when I graduated from the small bow that he made for me, I set the arrows down by my feet for the moment and pull the string of the bow back before releasing. I do this several times to get used to the recoil of the bow, and therefore how it will shoot the arrow. I grab my arrows again, loading one, and pull the string back. I am better able to use the bow now, but there is still an uncertainty about the arrow. I release, and hit the dummy in the shoulder. I grimace slightly before reloading. Having seen the arrow fly, I now have the feel of it. When I shoot again, I hit the dummy directly in the heart, sinking the arrow in deep. I turn to the Gamemakers to see them completely ignoring me, focusing on a steaming pot of soup with the little toy boat in the middle. There is a little flag at the top of the boat.

Suddenly I am furious with the fact that, with my life on the line, they don't even have the decency to pay attention to me. I'm being upstaged by a little toy boat in a bowl of soup. My heart starts to pound, and I can feel my face burning with fury. Without thinking, I pull an arrow from the quiver and send it straight at the Gamemakers' table. I hear shouts of alarm as people stumble back, shock on their faces. The arrow skewers that little flag on that little toy boat, and pins it to the wall behind the table. Everyone stares at me in disbelief. Calmly, I set the bow and arrow back in their places before turning back to the Gamemakers.

"Thank you for your consideration," I sneer. Then I give a slight bow and walk straight toward the exit without being dismissed.


	5. Part 1: THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE Chapter 4

As as I leave the elevator on the twelfth floor, I feel panic start to overwhelm me. What will they do now? I don't really care about me. I was sentenced to death, or at least the possibility of death, when my name was drawn. There isn't much more they can do to me without ruining the Games by being one tribute short. But my family might suffer now because of my impulsiveness. My father and brother could be whipped or hung. My mother and sister could be killed, or worse. It is not as if our mayor is not fond of whipping. He thinks everyone could use ten lashes, no matter whether they've done something or not. Luckily, my father, brother and I are very careful. I am usually very careful; where has that gone now?

I should have stayed and apologized. Then maybe I would have been able to salvage something, have them focus on just making it awful for me in the arena rather than taking it out on my family. Instead, I stalked out of the place in the worst manner possible.

One thing's for sure. I'll get a high score, one that will cause all of the careers to target me. That's how it works. If I get a high enough score, even if I am from 12, the Careers will be determined to find out how I did it and they will come after me. That is one sure way of killing me off.

The panic fills me, worry about my family overwhelming me, as I stumble off the elevator and down the hallway. Unseeingly, I crash into Haymitch. He reaches out to steady me automatically.

"Watch where you're going, sweetheart." He drawls, then gets a look at my face when I glance up. "What happened?" He demands worriedly.

"I...nothing. Nothing you need to worry about." I tell him faintly. "I just...I need to..." I shake my head, my whole body trembling. Then, I feel the bile rising up in my throat as images of what could happen to my family flash before my eyes. I dart around him, bursting through the door that leads to my room, and darting into the bathroom just in time to throw up in the sink. My braid has swung forward and I want to push it aside but the strength in my hands as they clutch the edges of the sink is all that is holding me up. Suddenly, someone comes up behind me and pulls my braid back, a large hand settling tentatively on my lower back. When I've finished emptying my stomach, I glance up at Haymitch. "Thanks." I rasp hoarsely. Then I glance back down. I run water to empty the sink, then wash my mouth out. I expect him to leave but he doesn't.

"What happened?" He asks again. I sigh as I spit the last mouthful of water out of my mouth and stand up. I grab a towel from the rack and dry my face. I bite my bottom lip as I put the towel back. Finally, I decide that it can do no harm to tell him.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." He blinks in disbelief, staring at me.

"You...what?" He demands, tone strangled.

"I shot an arrow at them. Well, not exactly at them. In their direction. I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just... I just lost my head, so I shot this little boat out of the pot of soup they were about to eat."

"And what did they say?" Haymitch asks, tone carefully neutral.

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," I say.

"Without being dismissed?"

"I dismissed myself," I say, scowling. His lips start to twitch in amusement.

"What were their faces like?" He asks eagerly.

I can feel the edges of my mouth tilting up at his infectious amusement. I ponder for a moment that it's the first time I've seen him smile since we were kids. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them." An image pops into my mind and I grin. "One man jerked backward and hit the table. There was food all over his pretty, Capitol clothes." Haymitch bursts into roaring laughter and I can't help but laugh along with him.

"So what were you upset about? Seems pretty funny to me." Haymitch comments. I give him a disbelieving look.

"What about my family?" I demand. "What if they punish them?" His face turns solemn as he thinks about it.

"I don't think they will. It wouldn't make much sense. See, they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any effect on anybody. People would need to know what you did. But since the whole thing's supposed to be a secret, it'd be a waste of effort," says Haymitch. "More likely, they'll just make your life hell in the arena."

"They've already promised to do that anyway." I point out.

"Exactly." Haymitch agrees. And I realize the impossible has happened. He has actually cheered me up. Sullen, arrogant Haymitch has managed to soothe my worries.

"Thanks, Haymitch." I say quietly. He tilts his head slightly.

"Don't go thinking you owe me anything." He warns. "I only said what you'd have figured out on your own once you'd gotten your head back on straight." I nod in agreement but secretly think that I owe him anyway. And that's a serious thing, owing, especially in the Seam.

When we go down to dinner, there is yet more silence until it is time to go to the sitting room to watch the scores be awarded. Just like everything else this year, it takes twice as long as usual.

The Career Tributes naturally get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players average a six-to-four, though some get lower.

District 12 comes up last, as usual. Haymitch is first, and he gets a five. Not bad, but not great either. Nico comes next, scoring the lowest of all the tributes: a two. I wince in silent sympathy. Maysilee comes up and scores a five also. Then my picture pops up. Before I can do or even think anything, the number eleven is flashing under my picture. I blanch slightly, finding it is worse than I thought it would be. Only Careers score a ten, hardly anyone has ever scored an eleven, and no one has ever scored a twelve. I have come very close to doing the impossible, and the Careers will notice of that.

I feel the couch shift next to me and Haymitch's arm brushes mine in silent sympathy. Once again, despite myself, I am grateful for his comfort.

"Well." Rabat begins in surprise, everyone staring at me in shock. "Apparently, they liked you. Now you've got to do the same thing for the Capitol audience during your interview the day after tomorrow." She says flatly. I blink, imagining, just for a moment, shooting an arrow into the crowd on onlookers. Haymitch is shaking with silent laughter, obviously thinking of the same thing. "Normally, I'd do four hours with Fifi and four hours with me, but we've got double the tributes this year. So you'll each have four hours with Fifi and two with me. Fifi will go over presentation, three of you at a time, and I'll do content. I'll take Donner first, Everdeen, and Abernathy, you three go with Fifi first thing tomorrow after breakfast. Chandler, you'll have the first two hours of the morning to sleep. Two hours later, Everdeen will switch with Donner and Chandler will join Fifi. We'll have lunch after those two hours. After lunch, Everdeen will switch with Abernathy. Then, Abernathy, Everdeen, and Donner will be done, and Chandler will come to me. Understood?" I nod along with the others.

The first two hours with Fifi are horrible. Haymitch and I take turns making faces when her back is turned, but it only lightens the weight of her sneers and orders by a meager amount. She covers walking and posture, forcing me to wear death contraptions, which she calls high heels, that make me wobble. I've never worn high heels before. Wearing shoes like these would be a danger to your existence when you're surrounded by trees. Still, if she can do it, then I most certainly can. She berates both of us for slouching, and me for ducking my head too much. When Maysilee comes to take my place, and Nico joins the group, Haymitch grimaces slightly at me as I leave. I can tell he wishes that he was joining me.

Rabat is endlessy patient, very soft-spoken. The only time I've ever heard anything more from her was when she was giving us advice and setting the schedules. By the end of the session, we have both decided that I am hopeless. I am too hostile to be likeable or charming. I am too scornful to be humble, too humble to be cocky, too cocky to be vulnerable, too vulnerable to be vicious, and too matter-of-fact to be mysterious or sexy or funny. Despite her seemingly endless patience, Rabat is completely frustrated by the end of my session. We have accomplished nothing except getting to the bottom of what I am not.

I fetch Haymitch and exchange places with him.

By the end of the next two hours, I had come to the conclusion that, despite my occasional irritation at him, Fifi is a lot harder to bear without Haymitch. Her nagging gets on more nerves though. The instructions she gives are impatient. _You must make eye contact, Katniss. Don't use your hands to talk, Katniss. Really, Katniss, can't you smile more?_ I grow to hate the way my name sounds coming from her mouth.

When Haymitch comes too tell us that it is Nico's turn with Rabat and the rest of us are free, I practically run for the door. Haymitch smirks at me as I bolt past him but I ignore it, relieved to be free.

I eat dinner in my room, eating as much healthy food as I can. I have two nights left before the arena. Tomorrow night may be my last night alive. Of course, I intend to survive past the Cornucopia, but there is still a chance. And if I do make it past the Cornucopia, I will need my strength.

I slip into bed early, knowing that the buzzards will want to fix me up for my interview tomorrow morning.

I'm right. As soon as I wake up, they are hovering over me like the buzzards that I named them for, waiting for me to die so that they can have their fill of blood and flesh. I order breakfast and eat as I let them do what they will.

They work on me until late afternoon, styling my hair, nails and face. I am forced to keep my eyes closed as they work. When Mandala slips in and tugs my dress gently over my head, she is careful not to mess up any of the work that was already done. There is a few more adjustments and then they help me slip into a pair of shoes (which has heels at least 3 inches shorter than the ones Fifi were using). Finally, I can open my eyes. I let them stay closed another minute, dreading what I will see. When I do open my eyes, I do not expect what I do see.

It is not fantastic, but not horrible either. I am still a coal miner, but having just left work. Apparently, I wear a dress in the mines. The bottom of my dress, and my feet, are completely black. As you move up my body, it appears as though less and less coal has gotten on my dress, turning it a lighter gray instead black, the gray lightening as it heads up the dress. The bodice of my dress is pure white, the straps practically glowing because they are so pure. My hair, already black, is piled atop my head. The make-up on my face emphasizes my features, drawing out my gray eyes, highlighting my high cheekbones. I look dangerous, but not unforgettably so. I nod in satisfaction.

We meet up with the rest of the District 12 crowd at the elevator. They are dressed similarly, the design for Maysilee's dress opposite mine, her blond hair has small black flowers woven into it. The boys's suits are the same, Haymitch matching me and Nico matching Maysileee, except that there are no flowers in Nico's hair.

When the elevator opens, the other tributes are being lined up to take the stage. All forty-eight of us sit in a big arc throughout the interviews. I'll be third to last since the girl tributes precede the boys from each district. How I wish I could be first and get the whole thing out of the way! Now I'll have to listen to how likeable, charming, humble, cocky, vulnerable, vicious, mysterious, sexy and funny everybody else is before I go up. Plus, the audience will start to get bored, just as the Gamemakers did. And I can't exactly shoot an arrow into the crowd to get their attention, no matter what Rabat suggested.

Just stepping on the stage makes my breathing rapid and shallow. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. It's a relief to get to my chair, because between the heels and my legs shaking, I'm afraid I'll trip. Although evening is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer's day. An elevated seating unit has been set up for prestigious guests, with the stylists commanding the front row. The cameras will turn to them when the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balcony off a building to the right has been reserved for the Gamemakers. Television crews have claimed most of the other balconies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed into it are completely packed with people. Standing room only. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in. There will be no blackouts tonight. For a moment, I think of my family, watching the broadcast. I brush that thought away as quickly as it comes.

Caesar Flickerman, the man who has hosted the interviews for a little more than twenty years, bounces onto the stage. His appearance has been virtually unchanged during all that time. Same face under a coating of pure white makeup. Same hairstyle that he dyes a different color for each Hunger Games. Same ceremonial suit, midnight blue dotted with a thousand tiny electric bulbs that twinkle like stars. They do surgery in the Capitol, to make people appear younger and thinner. In District 12, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of survival. A plump person is envied because they aren't scraping by like the majority of us. But here it is different. Wrinkles aren't desirable. A round belly isn't a sign of success. I have no idea how old Ceasar is, but he was looked old when he started and he hasn't changed a bit since then.

This year, Caesar's hair, eyelids and lips are dark green. Caesar tells a few quick jokes to warm up the audience but then gets down to business.

The first girl tribute from District 1, looking provocative in a see-through gold gown, steps up the center of the stage to join Caesar for her interview. You can tell her mentor didn't have any trouble coming up with an angle for her. With that flowing blonde hair, emerald green eyes, her body tall and lush . . . she's sexy all the way.

Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. I'll say this for Caesar, he really does his best to make the tributes shine. He's friendly, tries to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.

I sit the way Fifi showed me as the districts slip by. 2, 3, 4. Everyone seems to be playing up some angle. The large boy who volunteered from 1 is a ruthless killing machine. The brown-haired girl from 4 is mysterious and quick-witted. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. The large boy from 10 wrestles bulls at home. My palms are sweating like crazy, so I wipe them on my dress, hiding the action by gripping the folds and burying my hands in them. 11.

The 12-year-old is small, innocent. Ceasar is gentle with her, making her look her best. The boy from 11 who laughed is telling jokes the entire time. Ceasar is as bewildered as the rest of us at his attitude and asks him about it. "Well," he says, "if I'm going to die, I'd rather make the most of the rest of my life. If I'm not, what's there to be worried about? Live for today, because tomorrow you might be dead." The buzzer sounds. They call Maysilee, and then they're calling Katniss Everdeen.

I feel myself, as if in a dream, standing and making my way center stage. I shake Caesar's outstretched hand, grateful that I wiped the sweat off on my dress so he didn't know.

"So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" asks Caesar.

What? What did he say? It's as if the words make no sense, as if I have no idea of their meaning when put together like that.

My mouth has gone dry. I imagine the words coming from his lips again, trying to make sense of them. "What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" I rack my brain for something that made me happy here.

"The food," I get out.

Caesar laughs, and vaguely I realize some of the audience has joined in.

"Oh, yes! It's delicious, isn't it?" asks Caesar. I nod. "Oh, I know. You just can't stop eating, can you?" He turns sideways to the audience in horror, hand on his stomach. "It doesn't show, does it?" They shout reassurances to him and applaud. "And it certainly doesn't show on you." He compliments me. This is what I mean about Caesar. He tries to help you out.

"Now, Katniss," he continues confidentially, "Obviously, this year's going to be tough, with twice the number of tributes. What do you think will be your biggest strength in the arena?" I smile slightly, feeling myself on firmer ground. I must not tell them about my skills with a bow and arrow, but there is a way that I can word this.

"Well, the Games are called the Hunger Games for a reason, aren't they? I've had experience with going hungry, and I also know how to resolve that problem."

"Well, well. That'll be significant, I'm sure. But I'm sure that wasn't what you showed the Gamemakers. So, how about that training score. E-le-ven. Give us a hint what happened in there."

I glance at the Gamemakers on the balcony and bite my lip to hold in a laugh. "Well, I think it was a first."

The cameras are directed on the Gamemakers, who are chuckling and nodding.

"You're killing us," says Caesar as if in actual pain. "Details. Details."

I address the balcony. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?"

One Gamemaker shouts out, "She's not!"

"Right," I say, shaking my head when I turn back to Ceasar. "Sorry. My lips are sealed."

"Alright then. Tell us about your family. Who came to see you after the Reaping?" Ceasar asks, voice turning serious. I feel a flood of warmth as images of my family dance before my eyes. Even as the realization that I am speaking to everyone in Panem rises up, I respond.

"My mother, little sister, older brother, and father came." I say, not mentioning Rose.

"And what did they say to you?" I shove back everthing but the images of my family, concentrating on their faces.

"They told me that they loved me, to be careful in the arena, and my sister begged me to try to win."

"And what did you say to her?"

Instead of warmth, I feel an icy rigidity take over my body. My muscles tense as they do before a kill. When I speak, my voice seems to have dropped an octave. "I swore I would."

"I bet you did," says Caesar, giving me a squeeze. The buzzer goes off. "Sorry we're out of time. Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve." It is only then, when I am rising to leave, that everything floods back to me and I realize that the crowd is cheering wildly. I return to my seat on shaky legs, and Haymitch takes my place.

I know what his angle is instantly. He doesn't have to reach far for the snarky, arrogant persona he displays for the audience. He has them eating out of the palm of his hand. At the end of the interview, Ceasar brings up the fact that there will be twice as many tributes this year.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?"

Haymitch shrugs. "I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

The audience bursts out laughing and Haymitch gives them a half smile. The buzzer rings and Haymitch retakes his seat beside me.

Nico's interview is almost painful. He is quiet, his voice low when he answers, and his fear is obvious. Ceasar tries to help, but it is obvious to everyone that Nico is a goner.

We stand for the anthem. Afterwards, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. Haymitch and I step onto one together while Maysilee and Nico take a different ones. Other tributes pile in as well. The crowd slows our entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones, so we have only each other for company. No one speaks. Our elevator stops to deposit six tributes before we are alone and then the doors open on the twelfth floor. I step out easily and we see the elevator across the hall open to let the whole crew out on the floor; Rabat, Fifi, Mandala and the other stylists, whose names I haven't bothered to learn. Maysilee arrives and then Nico moments later. Together, we walk into the dining room for dinner.

After dinner, we rewatch the interviews in the sitting room. District 12, who had the audience laughing for the first time in a long time, has shone. When it comes to Nico, he shrinks down in his seat as we all wince in sympathy.

When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush falls on the room. Tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused and prepared for the arena. The actual Games don't start until ten, because so many of the Capitol residents rise late, but we must make an early start. There is no telling how far we have to travel to get to the arena that has been prepared for this year's Games. Rabat will be going to the Games Headquarters with Fifi, to watch over us and, hopefully, sign up sponsors. District 12 rarely gets sponsors, mostly because they rarely last through the first two days. So we have to say goodbye here.

Fifi leaves without a goodbye; she is probably hoping that we die. But it doesn't matter, because we don't want to say goodbye to her anyway. The stylists head off after her, but we will see them in the morning (unfortunately). Rabat hesitates for a moment.

"Good luck." She says simply, voice subdued. We nod silently, and she walks off. I watch her go until she disappears from sight and then head to my rooms.

"Sweetheart." Haymitch says quietly. I pause. The hallway is empty besides us. Nico's door is closed, Maysilee's just closing. I glance at him. He is staring at me, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. There is conflict mixed in there, and I think I know why. He is arrogant and snarky and sarcastic, but he has become something to me. A friend, perhaps, or maybe just an ally against Fifi. All I know is that it would be difficult for me to kill him in the arena. Not impossible, not yet, but difficult. And I think he feels the same. "Stay alive." He says.

"You too." I tell him simply. He nods and we turn away. It is all that we dare to say. We both know that we will not be allies, because that would be dangerous with this friendliness that we feel for each other, but that we both hope that the other one wins if we die.

I take a shower and scrub the makeup from my body. I want to know who I am in these last free moments, not who the Capitol wants me to be. I pull on a thick, warm nightgown and climb into the bed. I toss and turn, struggling to find sleep. I need sleep desperately, because the arena is not safe for those who invite death by sleeping heavily. I try to imagine home, hunting in the woods with my father and brother, making dinner with my mother and sister, all of us curling up together in our parents' bed. I let a peaceful smile slip onto my face and lose myself to my memories until I drift into a peaceful sleep.

I don't see any of the others in the morning. Mandala comes to me before dawn, gives me a simple shift to wear, and guides me to the roof. A hovercraft appears out of thin air, and a ladder drops down. I place my hands and feet on the lower rungs and instantly it's as if I'm frozen. Some sort of current glues me to the ladder while I'm lifted safely inside. I expect the ladder to release me once I'm inside, but I'm still stuck when a woman in a white coat approaches me carrying a syringe.

"This is your tracker, Katniss. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it," she says.

Still? I'm frozen. But that doesn't prevent me from feeling the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deep under the skin on the inside of my forearm. Now the Gamemakers will always be able to trace my whereabouts in the arena. It will let them decide where to unleash horrors on us so that they kill the most tributes, and it allows them to herd us together into a bloodbath. I have suspected for a while that it is also how they know whether or not we're alive.

As soon as the tracker is in place, the ladder releases me. The woman disappears and Mandala is retrieved from the roof. A boy comes in and directs us silently to a room where breakfast has been laid out. Despite the tension in my stomach, I eat as much as I can, although none of the delectable food makes any impression on me. I'm so nervous, I could be eating coal dust, but I need these last nutrients if I am to survive past the first few days. There may be little food in the arena, and this meal may mean the difference between life and death. The one thing that interests me at all besides the food is the view from the windows as we sail over the city and then to areas beyond. This is what birds see, except that they're free and safe, which I am not. I'm reminded of a lullaby Mother used to sing to me before I grew too old to want her to anymore.

The ride lasts about an hour before the windows black out, suggesting that we're nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands and Mandala and I go back to the ladder, only this time it leads into a tube underground, into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We follow instructions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation. In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. My brother and I refer to it, privately, as the Stockyard. The place where animals go before slaughter.

I struggle to keep my breakfast down as I shower and clean my teeth. Mandala does my hair in a simple braid down my back. I am glad, because it will keep my hair out of my eyes and out of my way. Then the clothes arrive, the same for every tribute. No stylist has had any say in the outfit, because they are specific to the arena in which the tributes are placed. She helps me dress in the undergarments, a pair of pants and a shirt that are both made out of light-weight cotton. The boots, worn over skintight socks, are better than I could have hoped for. They are made of soft leather, not unlike my ones at home. These have a narrow flexible rubber sole with treads though. That will be good in terms of running.

I think I'm finished when Mandala pulls the gold rose pin from her pocket. I had completely forgotten about it.

"Where did you get that?" I ask.

"Off the green outfit you wore on the train," she says curtly. I remember now taking it off my mother's dress, pinning it to the shirt. "It barely cleared the review board. Some thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage. But eventually, they let it through," she says disappointedly, as though she'd hoped they wouldn't. "There, you're all set. Move around. Make sure everything feels comfortable."

I walk, run in a circle, swing my arms about. "Yes, it's fine. Fits perfectly."

"Then there's nothing left to do but wait for the call," she says.

Nervousness seeps into terror as I anticipate what is to come. I could be dead, flat-out dead, in an hour, maybe not even that long. My fingers trace the hard, little lump on my forearm, where the woman injected the tracking device. I press on it. Even though it hurts, I press on it so hard that a small bruise begins to form. Pain lets you know you're alive, and I need that knowledge right now. I'm not dead yet, and if I'm not dead, there's still a chance I can live.

We sit in silence until a female voice announces it's time to prepare for launch. A glass cylinder lowers around me. I lift my chin high, determined not to show weakness, and stand as straight as I can. The cylinder begins to rise. For maybe fifteen seconds, I'm in darkness. Then I can feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder, into the open air. For a moment, my eyes are dazzled by the bright sunlight.

Then I hear the announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms all around me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"


	6. Part 2: THE GAMES Chapter 5

**Part 2**

**"The Games"**

We're required to stay on our circles for sixty seconds. As I stare around me, I'm determined to take everything in before the gong sounds. At first, I am mesmerized by the beauty, but my senses kick in quickly. The Capitol is beautiful but that beauty is deadly. More than likely, this place holds the same type of deadly beauty, even more likely actually, as it is an arena. I glance around, examining my surroundings. The meadow is huge and stretches for miles, the golden Cornucopia sitting squarely in the middle. Far to the north sits a snow-capped mountain. To the south, there is a forest, which is where I will go as soon as I leave here. I glance around and all of the tributes are distracted. They are sniffing the air, admiring the scent of death. I glance at the Cornucopia and manage to spot something that draws me like a Siren's song. A bow and a quiver of arrows lay right next to a large backpack, in the center of the Cornucopia. I glance around once more. Everyone is still distracted. I position my feet and prepare to run, hoping my speed will be enough to make it and leave before the other tributes begin the bloodbath.

The gong rings out and I bolt forward. I reach the packs, sling the backpack on my back, grab the bow and quiver, and bolt. I see Haymitch at the Cornucopia, arming himself, but I don't fire at him and he doesn't attack me. He's twenty yards from me as we both run for the woods. We are gone before any of the others have made it more than a few steps off their circles. Once in the forest, I lose sight of him because of the thickness of the strange trees. I slow to a jog once I'm well inside the woods, but continue moving. I cannot stop so close to the Cornucopia.

For the next few hours, I alternate between jogging and walking, putting as much distance as I can between myself and my competitors. I keep an eye out for water as I walk, not knowing what I have in my pack and knowing that I will not survive without water for long. I do not see any lakes or anything yet, but I slow to a steady walk once I think that I'm far enough from the Cornucopia. I wonder who has died already. Not Haymitch, obviously.

About midday, I pause and sit down. I set my bow and quiver beside me, close enough to snatch up if I have to run, and begin digging in the pack. I unpack the pack and examine the contents. I find a gallon bottled filled to the brim with water, a plastic bowl, a box of wooden matches, a large packet of twelve dried beef strips, two apples, and a small knife. I place the knife in my belt before replacing everything else back in the pack neatly, being careful to distribute the weight as evenly as possible so as not to strain myself. Then, I start walking again.

It's late in the day, almost sunset, when I begin to hear the cannons. The fighting must have finally stopped at the Cornucopia. I allow myself to pause again as I count the shots. One . . . two . . . three . . . on and on until they reach eighteen. Eighteen tributes are dead. There are thirty people left alive, still more than the normal starting amount, but it's a significant decrease. If this was a normal Games, there would only be six tributes left.

I keep walking until I can't see clearly anymore. Night is the deadliest time for tributes, when they have to let their guards down to sleep. Mutts, or other tributes, can sneak up on them then. With this in mind I glance around, hoping to find somewhere to sleep that is as safe as you can get in the arena. Normally, I would prefer to sleep up a tree, but the trees all have very few branches close to the ground so I can't climb them. I spot a cluster of bushes close together. There is a small opening, only just visible in the dark, and I slip in gratefully. There is a hollowed out space in the center that looks natural and I slip down in it, comforted by the soothing smell of trees. The bushes are large, and they surround each other so completely that the only way in or out is through the hole that I just climbed in through. It gets cooler as the sky grows ever darker, and I feel the sweat on my skin cooling. I allow myself to eat one of the beef strips and take a gulp of water.

Night has just fallen completely, leaving the area surrounding me pitch black, when I hear the anthem that proceeds the death list. Through the gap in the branches above me, I can see the seal of the Capitol. The anthem fades out and the sky goes dark for a moment. I take a deep breath as the face of the dead tributes begin.

One of the girls from District 1 is first and I feel surprise overtake me. Normally, all of the Career tributes make it through the first day. A girl from 3, the tiny one, and then a boy from 3 is next, followed by a boy from 4, the one with the bad leg he tried to hide. _Two Careers down_, I think. _10 left alive._ Both boys from 5 show up next, then one of the girls and one of the boys from 6, the same from 7 and 8, one of the boys from 10, all of the tributes from 11, and, my breath catches slightly in pity, Nico. That's it. The Capitol seal is back with a final musical flourish, and then darkness.

I'm half grateful, half dreading the fact that Haymitch and Maysilee are still alive. On one hand, if I die, I want one of them to win. On the other, if I don't die, I may have to kill one or both of them. I decide to settle on gratitude. There are still 30 of us. It is unlikely that all three of us will make to the final 8. That is when it will get dangerous.

I place my bow and quiver where I can grab it as soon as I hear anything and use my pack as a pillow. Then, I close my eyes and let myself fall into a light sleep.

I wake to a cannon. The sun is shining and I feel an urgency overtake me, uncertain as to what killed the tribute and if it is anywhere near me. The trees overhead make it impossible to tell where the tribute was killed. I eat a beef strip, take a small swallow of water, and keep moving.

It gets hotter as the sun moves higher into the sky. I pant from the strain and sweat pours down me, but I ignore it, refusing to drink much of the water I have until I have a way to get more.

It's only a few hours later that the next cannon sounds. I have been treking through this strange forest, with the unfamiliar trees and its unfamiliar animal sounds, and have encountered little trouble. I've heard only small critters, no larger ones, and there have been no game trails for me to follow. The only thing exciting to happen was the scrape I got on my hand from tumbling after a small drop was concealed by branches. This worries me, not only because I'll need the food eventually, but because I haven't encountered any trouble. This either means that I am about to encounter something horrible or that there is fighting elsewhere. I suppose now I know, but it's not a relief. One more down, twenty-seven more to go before I can go home.

I continue to treck through the trees, but pause to rest for a moment under a tree about noon. It is then that everything gets quiet. I freeze, atune enough to the sounds of the forest, even a strange forest like this, to know that there is trouble. I find out what the trouble is a second later when something lands on my head and begins to scratch me with lethal claws. I scramble for the knife in my belt, jerking my head to try and get rid of the small but clearly vicious creature on top of me. I find the knife and bring it up, stabbing blindly. I manage to injure it and it screaches indignantly before lashing out, catching the back of my hand. Blood runs into my eyes from the wounds on my head, but I ignore it as I stab again. This time there is a death squeal and it goes limp.

I use the hand not holding the knife to lift the thing from my head to examine it. When I register what it is, I am shocked. It's a squirrel. It's claws and teeth are bright red, with splatters of red dotting its fur, as well as pouring from the wounds that I've made. Man-eating squirrels are, apparently, the newest big thing in entertainment. I press my wrist to my forehead, letting the cotton absorb some of the blood and trying to staunch the flow. I think about cooking the squirrel, but before I can do more than lower the arm holding the squirrel, a shriek of attack causes me to spin. I am horrified to see five more squirrels. As soon as I make eye contact, they all spring at me. I release the dead one, bringing my knife up. My bow will be no use in this close range and it would cost me time to loose the one arrow that would be useful. Instead, I slash out with my knife. It seems to take forever, though it is probably only a few minutes, before the last squirrel, realizing that its companions are dead, chitters at me in anger before darting straight up a tree. I am breathing heavily, but dare not pause. I head off immediately, continuing in the direction I had been going. Staying would only invite the squirrel to return with reinforcements.

Only when I cannot keep going do I pause. The shallow cuts made by the squirrels, on my head, my arms, my legs, and my hands, have stopped bleeding and itch as they scab over. It is mostly scratches, but there are a few gouges here and there that are just healing. I resist the urge to scratch them and take a sip of water instead. It is then that I hear the burble of flowing water. I turn, peering through the trees to see a thin, deep stream. Its path runs almost parallel to the one that I have been walking, except that it winds slightly further from my path about 10 feet down. I sigh in exasperation at not having thought to move slightly over, but start to move forward.

A sound stops me in my tracks: the sound of snapping branches. The remaining boy from 8 steps out of the trees on the other side of the stream, darting for the water eagerly. He has a small pack but there is clearly no water because he nearly collapses at the bank and scoops the water up in his hands, downing it greedily. I shift quietly, making no noise as I draw my bow and load an arrow. I am about to shoot when I realize there is something wrong, and I pause in interest as the boy grabs his throat, gagging. He doubles over, throwing up nearly all of the water he has consumed, but it is clearly not enough because his body begins to convulse. After several long minutes, he slumps to the ground and a cannon sounds. My mind races as my body moves on automatic, stepping across the thin stream and taking the pack from the dead boy. I move off, allowing the hovercraft to carry the boy off.

Poisoned. The water must be poisoned. It is the only explanation for the boy's death. He looked dehydrated but fine before drinking the water, and afterward he began to be sick. I glance at my pack, grateful that I managed to obtain it and the precious water inside. I refuse to think about what would have happened had I found the stream before, or if I had shot the boy before he'd shown signs of the poisoning. I sling the boy's pack over my other shoulder, deciding to wait until nightfall to examine its contents.

Two more tributes die throughout the day. I begin to dread the anthem, wondering if Haymitch's face will appear tonight, or Maysilee's. The boy that I feel a kinship with or the girl who is as close as a sister to the girl that my brother is in love with.

I was lucky to find the bushes the first night. I am not so lucky tonight, and the presence of the squirrels and the poisonous water has unnerved me. I find a small clearing and settle in, my back to a tree and my bow in my lap, an arrow strung warily. I begin to rifle through the bag. There is a half-eaten packet of dried beef strips with two strips left, which I add to my own supply, a empty plastic bottle, and a small roll of cloth. When I test it, it rips easily.

I blink in confusion for a moment before remembering one of the days that Joe had dragged me to visit Rose in the apothecary, on the ruse of supplying her with herbs found in the woods that were useful to the store. She had seen a cut that he'd managed to get from foolishly overextending himself while trying to get a herb for her. He'd done it to impress her, and her fussing over the cut had made him believe that it had been worth it. I'd just rolled my eyes as she'd bandaged the cut, brushing his skin with hers more than necessary. This cloth was similar to what she'd used as a bandage.

I gently placed the item to the side, lay my own supplies out, and fold the smaller pack, placing it at the bottom of my larger one. It would be too much of a hassle to attempt to carry both packs and my bow and quiver. I eat another beef strip and then replace the supplies carefully, distributing the weight again. I hook one of my arms through one of the straps on the pack, wary of an attack.

The anthem plays and the faces begin. There have been five deaths today. The remaining boy from 3, one of the girls from 5, the remaining boy from 7, the boy from 8, and one of the girls from 10. _Twenty-three down, and twenty-four left to die,_ I think. We are half-way through the tributes. It took two days to do what it usually takes an entire Games, around four to six days, to do.

The next day, I begin to move immediately after my small breakfast of beef strips and water. I am wary of taking any breaks for fear of more squirrels or some other abomination, but by midday, with the heat only increasing, I have to stop. I am breathing heavily and take two, careful gulps of water, careful not to drink too much. I have no idea how long until the end of the Games, but it is best not to chance anything. I remember my father's advice about stealing supplies from the Careers and wonder if I should. I have a food supply and I know how to ration my remaining water. So I really don't need more supplies. Besides, in the hot arena, walking around trying to find the Careers' camp, and possibly finding the Careers themselves, is a waste of energy. Admittedly, I will have to face the Career group at some point, but I want to put that off as long as possible so that the squirrels can eat a couple or some catastrophe can wipe them out, so that I don't have to face all ten, or however many there are.

Satisfied with my resolution, I set out to find a good campsite for when dark settles in. Since I haven't seen anyone else since the Cornucopia, I keep my ears and eyes focused on my surroundings. The Gamemakers will try to herd us together soon. Walking steadily, I come to a clearing filled with beautiful flowers. All sorts of beautiful flowers, of which I know very little names. I'm breathing easily and I have a little time, so I pause, flopping myself down on the grass, keeping my bow near. I remember my father taking my siblings and I, as little children, to the Meadow to play. The memory strikes a chord in me and I slump back in the grass, closing my eyes, breathing in the smell of the flowers and trying to remember home.

It takes only a minute before I realize that I'm short of breath and gasping for air. I gather enough common sense to pull myself from the clearing and head for the woods. I stagger through the trees, determined to get away from that poisonous beauty.

_Fool_! I scold myself. _You knew this fake, Capitol beauty was dangerous. If you want to be in the Meadow at home, you have to get home!_

I only make it fifty yards before I collapse, shaking violently. Pain wracks my body and I convulse violently. I bite my lip to avoid screaming in pain and feel a trickly of blood begin to come from the cut. Hours pass as I contort in pain. Mercifully, I black out.


	7. Part 2: THE GAMES Chapter 6

When I wake up, dark has begun to fall. I roll to my stomach and push myself up. My arms shake but, luckily, they are able to hold my weight. I raise myself to my feet, legs shaky but stable. Biting my lip at the concentration that it takes to stay on my feet causes the raw skin to break open again and blood begins to fall in droplets. I sigh and stop, grabbing my packs, deciding to walk through the night. I can sleep tomorrow. Unless there are faces in the sky tonight, the Gamemakers will create a catastrophe designed to throw us together.

An hour later, the anthem starts to play. No deaths. I smile grimly and begin to walk again. It's not half an hour later that I hear the silence in the trees. I pause and look up wildly, expecting some Gamemaker creation to swoop down on me. I'm right, because squirrels catch my eye and lunge at me. I swear, grab the knife from my belt, and begin slashing at them. Seven squirrels, which, I realize with dread, is more than last time, will pose a big problem in my weakened state. Desperately, I lash out.

In the end, a chunk of my forearm is missing, scratches are added to my growing collection, and there are seven squirrels lying dead. I use the cloth from the boy's pack to bind my arm tightly, fighting the blood loss. It is soaked in minutes but when I change it, the next cloth seeps up the remaining blood sluggishly. I nod in satisfaction. I take the time to eat three of the beef stips, because of the blood I lost, and move on. I have to keep moving.

Midnight rolls around and the catastrophe has yet to strike. I feel my wariness fading and struggle to hold on to it. I know that something will happen but, as each hour passes, I steadily become less vigilant because it has not happened yet.

And it doesn't.

And it doesn't.

And it doesn't.

It's not until dawn that I notice something wrong. Animals, which have so far been absent, begin to pass me, running in the direction that I was just going. Warily, I look back. When I see what the Gamemakers have devised, I freeze for the second it takes me to register just how bad the danger is. Then, I am running, following the fleeing animals.

The volcano, which has so far been dormant, has erupted, spewing lava and projectiles from its midst. In the distance, I saw tributes running down the mountainside and being overcome by the quickly flowing lava. I race on. Birds screach alarm calls; animals crash through the trees. The forest is safer than the mountain, but there are still lava rocks that have been thrown from the volcano in the eruption that crash into several trees, starting small fires. I can not worry about those, can only run farther into the trees. In the trees lies safety.

While small fires burn in a few of the trees, the forest is mostly untouched. Whether the lava will enter the forest and the danger to me will increase, I cannot know until it happens. I doubt it. The Capitol audience will want to see more than the remaining tributes burnt to crisps. They will want blood. Which means that the Gamemakers will want some safety for those of us that remain. Which means that the forest will probably be safe enough for the moment. Whether it will be so safe once the remaining tributes, the remaining Careers, start hunting is a different story.

When the lava has calmed, still spitting slightly, the only remaining danger for the time being is the fires in the trees. That problem is solved moments later, when the rain begins falling. At first, I am cautious. The water was poisonous in the stream, the rain could be the same. The water streams around me, soaking my clothes and body. It clouds my eyes and slips between my lips. After two minutes, I decide that if it was poisonous, I would be dead by now, I lean back and open my mouth, letting the water fall in. The rain is falling so heavily that my mouth fills in less than a minute. I remember the District 8 boy's empty water container and set it on the ground, letting it fill up. I let my bottle of water and the bowl from my pack fill up as well.

The containers overfill before the rain stops, which happens only five minutes after it's started. I drink the water in the bowl, recapping the two bottles, before searching around. I need a place to sleep for the day. Everyone will, most likely, be recovering or dying. Moments after I think this, the cannons begin. One...Two...Three...Twelve shots, twelve dead. Again, the number of tributes has been halved. Thirteen tributes left. Twelve left to die.

I fall asleep in a dense part of the jungle, a view of the volcano from my hole in case it lights up again and wake up to the anthem, the pictures in the sky. I shift, dreading the sight of Haymitch in the sky as much as I hope for it. I shove him from my mind as the pictures start to flash.

A boy from 1 is first, followed by two girls from 2. Three Careers down. A girl from 3, a girl and boy from 4. Five Careers down. The girl from 8, all four from 9. There is one more left. The girl from 10. The seal shows again, and that's it. The sudden silence seems deafening. I feel an instant rush of relief, followed by dread. Who is left?

Two from 1.

Two from 2.

One from 4.

One from 5.

Two from 6.

One from 7.

One from 10.

Three from 12.

Thirteen tributes remaining. 12 has the most players in the Games at this moment. 3, 8, 9, and 11 are gone. There are five remaining Careers.

Not wanting to fall asleep in the daylight, when it will be easier to see me, I fall back asleep. The dawn comes quicker than I'd imagined and, with only twelve tributes left and with how fast they'd been dying, I drink a large gulp of water and eat two beef strips and one of the apples before taking off.

It's only an hour later that I hear the first shot of the day. I can only suspect that the Careers have recovered, and are on the move.

I move forward more cautiously now. While before the Careers centered themselves in the mountains, everyone left alive is in the trees now. I will need to be extra cautious.

My caution pays off. Around two hours after the cannon, I hear twigs snap underfoot. I sink back into the bushes as a girl from five exits the woods into the clearing. She has red hair and dark eyes. I watch for a moment as she glances around anxiously. She is skinny, starving, and she looks like she hasn't slept at all. There is a knife in her hand and she grips it as though she will die if she lets it go. She's probably right. But a knife will not save her from me.

I notch an arrow and pull it back. I aim for her heart and, when I release, hit my target exactly. A cannon goes off immediately, a clean kill. She has no pack and I don't need another knife, so I take off immediately, allowing the Gamemakers to retrieve her body.

I am forced to stop moments later by a thickly woven hedge that refuses to let me through. I suspect that this is the end of the arena and sigh. I follow the hedge and find that it is leading me back through to the center of the woods. I pause, unwilling to be lead into a trap. I hear a rustle behind me and spin, notching another arrow. The boy from six freezes and throws up his hands, showing that he's without a weapon.

"Wait." He pleads. I pause, holding my arrow but not releasing. "I'm not...I just... Please don't."

He looks young, younger than me, and he's begging and blonde with brown eyes, but for some reason, Joe pops up in my head. Maybe it's because I've spent the last five days alone, or maybe it's just that I miss having my brother around, but I don't want to kill this boy.

"There's eleven of us left." I tell the boy bluntly. "That's not many."

"I know." The boy says, but there is hope entering his voice. I sigh and lower my bow. I watch him warily as he moves closer. In my head, I hear my mother's voice scoffing at those tributes, besides Careers, who form alliances when they know they may have to kill the person later. I shove her voice aside, thinking instead of my father taking the food we had to spare to the families in the District that had too many mouths to feed or too few members to work. He didn't dare risk the mayor and the Peacekeepers's wrath, but he helped when he could.

I pause, considering, but I know my choice is already made. I start to reach for my pack but freeze. With the poisonous flowers and the squirrels, I'd eaten more than was wise. I count in my head and realize I have only 4 beef strips left. I pull back, not wanting to share the precious little I have with this boy. Instead, I reach again for my bow. The boy tenses and I pause.

"I'm going to find us something to eat." I say finally. I dig the matches from my pack and toss them to him. He fumbles and they fall to the ground. He flushes and picks them up hurriedly. "Gather some wood and light a fire for us to cook it when I get back." While it may not be wise to light a fire with the Careers now so close, I know that it would be worse not to do so. The plants and the water is poisonous, who says the animals aren't? Some poisons are able to be destroyed through heat. Not trusting the boy, I swing the pack on my back and set off.

Because of the volcano, the animals are now all in the forest, and clumped together tighter than before. I am able to shoot a monkey and a strange-looking bird within a mile of where I left the boy. For a moment, I consider just leaving rather than returning. While it may be a better idea to leave before I get attached, I don't like the thought of him waiting by a lit fire for me to return and having the Careers sneak up on him. I head back to the campsite.

Halfway there, I'm interrupted. A cannon shot rings out, and I freeze. Another shot shatters the silence moments later. A longer pause, and then a third shot a few minutes after the second.

Slowly, I continue back to the campsite. I wonder inwardly who is dead. The thought of the boy waiting for me causes me to speed up but I know that he is fine. There were three shots and I would have heard him scream.

Haymitch pops into my mind next and, while I scold myself for caring, I allow myself to think of that possibility. _If the Careers did get him_, I think smugly, _he took some of them out with him_.

When I reach the place where I left the boy, I find him with five matches littering the ground, a sixth in his hand, and no fire. I snatch the sixth from his hand, using it to light the fire. The boy yelps in surprise and then sits back to watch me.

"What's your name?" I ask bluntly, unable to justify not asking. I can't just keep calling him 'boy' if we will be allies.

"Ben." He says. I nod. "What's yours?"

"Katniss." I sit back, cleaning the animals, plucking them, and setting them on the fire to roast. I turn them once in a while, but otherwise we relax back and wait.

"There's eight of us left." He says. I nod simply and he falls silent. _They'll be doing interviews at home. _I think._ I wonder what my father or Joe will say to them._ I smirk at the thought of Joe's jibes and my father's strong reassurance.

When the monkey is fully cooked, I give it to Ben. It looks as though he hasn't eaten anything since we entered the arena, so I allow him to have the whole thing as I begin to pluck the bird. He eats ravenously and finishes just as I put the bird on the fire to cook. I glance over at him barely a minute later to find him asleep. I sigh and shake my head slightly, thinking that he must not have gotten much rest. I let him sleep as my food cooks.

Then, I hear the cannon.

I don't realize what has happened right away, merely glancing at Ben to see if the cannon woke him up. Instead, I find that he has stopped breathing. My breath catches in shock and I'm moving before I realize it, dousing the fire and repacking my things. I don't touch the bird, certain that it, too, must be poisonous beyond help. As the water was, the flowers were, and the monkey was.

I glance back at the edge of the clearing where we made our camp and watch as the hovercraft picks the boy up and carries him away. In my mind, I see his face as he held up his hands in surrender, pleading for me not to kill him. I have done so anyway. When the hovercraft is gone, I head into the woods without looking back.


	8. Part 2: THE GAMES Chapter 7

**I'm sorry this took so long to be published. The latter chapters of this story is giving me a bit of troubles. This story is almost done!**

There is one more death later in the day. The faces in they sky that night show that Haymitch and Maysilee are both still alive. There are six of us left. Five of us left to die.

_With the way things have been going_, I think, _it could all be over tomorrow or the day after_. I take heart in that and settle down to sleep.

My dreams are plagued with the girl I killed and the boy who died because he ate the food that I gave him. When I wake, it is with a cry that I quickly muffle. I grab my bow, glancing around warily, praying that no one has heard my scream. I eat my last apple and a beef strip before I set off into the trees.

With how few people are left, it's a surprise that I don't run into anyone by midday. I continue moving, more warily now. I will be involved in a fight soon, something that I have tried to avoid as best as I can. I'm a long-distance hunter, my bow is my greatest weapon, and I will easily be overpowered in close combat.

When a scream pierces the air, it strikes a chord in me. For a moment, I wonder why. It just means one less tribute standing between me and home. Then I realize. A feminine scream could only belong to three people. I'm not screaming, and I very much doubt the Career girl from 1 would scream like that. She's bigger than Haymitch in size. So that leaves only one female tribute that's still alive.

Maysilee.

I start to run instinctively, bolting through the woods, heart pounding as I race to the source of the scream. I am not thinking clearly, and this could be the moment that I die because I was not careful. She is my competition, someone who is standing between me and going home. But she is from 12. While, admittedly, District affiliations mean little in the games, I can't sit by and let her die without trying to do anything.

And so I race on.

The screams stop before I can reach her. The sound of a cannon freezes me in my tracks. I bow my head in silent defeat and move on. _Five_, I think. _There are five of us left_._ And one of those is Haymitch._

As I move on, I keep half my attention on my surroundings. The other half goes to Maysilee. I remember thinking at the Reaping that she wouldn't last long. Perhaps she had some knowledge of plants, but that would not have helped her in this arena where everything is poisonous. I can't help but wonder how she survived so long. I grieve silently for her death, but I am grateful that I could not reach her in time, as well as that I had not had to kill her.

After awhile of walking, I hear voices ahead. I slip as close as I dare, my feet making no sound as I glide across the forest floor.

"Must've been one of the girls from 12. They're the only other girls left." The boy from 2 growls.

"Perhaps." The girl from 1 says coolly. "Who is left then?"

"The boy from 10, and the boy and remaining girl from 12."

"It looks like 12 actually had some decent competitors this year." The girl says snidely.

"Better than ever before. Not that that's saying anything." The boy sneers. They laugh and I grit my teeth. I want to aim my bow and bring them down where they stand, but I don't. Instead, I watch as they move on. Their supplies are loaded in backpacks that they both carry. Being Careers, they are both able to handle the weight easily. I notice that the boy has a sword in his grip and the girl carries an ax.

"I still don't know why you kept that thing." The boy growls impatiently as the girl works for a moment to adjust her grip on both the packs and the weapon. "You should've just let the hovercraft take it away with the tree from 7." I don't hear any more because they head off into the woods, out of my hearing. I follow them silently, watching.

There are only five people left. The two Careers, which I am following, will eventually go after Haymitch and the boy from 10. And me. But what they don't know, is that I will be following them, waiting as they kill the others. It is a strategy similar to the one that Rabat used, except that I will let them kill off each other before I kill the survivor.

Only one thing occurs to me as a disruption of my plan. If I could not bear to listen to Maysilee scream, how will I bear watching them kill Haymitch while I stand by and watch? I pray that it will not come to that, nor that it will come to the fact of my having to kill him, even as I know that the odds are not in my favor.

I follow the Careers for the rest of the morning and the early part of afternoon, watching as the, perhaps fake, sun moves across the sky. It's still early in the afternoon when the boy from 10 loses his luck. The two on one fight is brutal, but this boy is the bulky boy that wrestled bulls. He is not as easy to take down. In fact, if he had only been facing one of the Careers, I think he would have been able to survive. As it is, he manages a deep cut in the chest of the boy from 1 before the two tributes overwhelm him. I watch with silent pity and anger as the boy is killed and then looted. He is carried away by the hovercraft moments later.

The Careers decide to rest for a moment, the heat bearing down on them, and the girl heads off to do something that I can't hear while the boy starts to slowly, because of his wound, set up the camp. The girl is only gone for a minute before the squirrels begin to appear. There are many of them, more than I'd faced, and his wound both slows him down and gives him less strength than usual. Not to mention that a sword is not a good weapon to use when faced with tiny squirrels.

I turn my head away when they start to devour him.

The girl comes running when she hears his screams, but she stands on the edge of the clearing rather than moving to help him. I watch her rather than him, and see her watch with a cold expression on her face as he dies. I am relieved when the cannon fires and the squirrels depart. One darts right past me but does not try to attack. I watch the girl approach the campsite after the boy has been picked up by the hovercraft. She settles down easily and digs into some food from one of the packs.

_I'd better hope she kills Haymitch_, I think, _because they are the only two left_. With my bow, I could kill her without putting myself in danger. Still, it would be even better if they killed each other off.

It takes until late afternoon for the inevitable confrontation to happen. I watch as they fight, tightly controlling my instinctive desire to help him. It's the first time that I've seen him since the Cornucopia. He is very thin, but healthy. Then again, so is she. And she's bigger and faster.

In the end, they are both covered in injuries. Her legs are sliced up, blood pouring from the cuts, and he has several deep cuts on his arms from glancing blows with the ax. She manages to slice his stomach, a deathly wound. When he takes advantage of her momentary gloating by stabbing her in the eye with a large knife, she snarls and disarms him. He staggers away, clutching his stomach. I don't know if he is trying to prolong his death or if he really thinks that going somewhere else will help him defeat her, but she follows after him, limping from the wounds on her legs and worn out from the fight. I follow them both.

Cautious as I am, I arrive just in time to watch the ax sink into her skull.

Later, while I'm watching the final moments of the game from the Victor's seat onstage, I watch my own expression.

I watch as I go to kneel beside Haymitch, as our eyes meet in understanding that I will go home rather than he. I remember thinking that he could have won, if anyone from our District could, and that he hadn't because I had left him to face the Career alone. If he had been at full strength, my victory would not have been so certain.

And then, I watch the shock on both of our faces as the trumpets begin to blare and the announcer shouts out our mutual victory.


	9. Epilogue: Coming Home

**Alright guys, here it is. The last chapter. It's kind of short but there's not much left to say. I'm thinking about writing a sequel for this story but I want feedback about what you guys would think. Do you want a sequel or should I just leave it here? If I do choose to do a sequel, it might be awhile. I want to get it all written out before I continue with the next story and I'm starting college this August. Alright, read and weep, it's all over!**

Rabat tells us later that they announced right after the tributes were sent in that there would be two Victors. President Snow had announced to the stunned audience that since there was double the number of tributes, there would be double the number of Victors. Two Games in one, rather than just doubling the tributes.

They had decided to surprise the tributes left alive at the end. I shudder when I think about if I had killed Haymitch before I knew about the change, so I don't think about it much.

The thought of going home sustains me through the final interviews and the train ride. Both pass in a blur that I can barely remember, so caught up am I in the relief that I am alive and going home.

Nightmares still plague my dreams, the fight between Haymitch and the girl from 1 now added in to the horrors that are featured. I wake up at night, muffling my screams as I did in the arena. I lay there until I am called to eat by Fifi, who was disappointed that we'd made it back alive.

Haymitch and I don't speak at all. We exchange meaningful looks all through the ceremonies and the train ride, but we don't speak. Both of us are just trying to forget, to put the Games behind us, and focus on our home in District 12.

When the train pulls into 12, I see our families waiting in the station. I run to my father immediately, launching myself into his arms. He hugs me tightly and then my mother, sister, and Joe want a turn. I delight in feeling their arms around me again, and I can see the joy in their eyes that I am home. I don't mention that Rose is not here.

The reporters at the station throw questions at us, but my father handles them easily, guiding us firmly from the station and to our new home in Victor's Village. My family will live there with me.

Haymitch's family and his girlfriend, Meg, follows in our wake. They enter the house directly across from Rabat, which is next to mine. Haymitch and I exchange a brief glance just before we're ushered into the different buildings.

No matter what happens in the future, I know that we have come to an understanding. We are the only people who understands how the other feels, who has experienced the Games. Not even my father will understand what I have been through as well as Haymitch can. And that ties us together.


End file.
